


The Last of Him

by JoMouse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Although I'm not sure cute is the right word, Canon Compliant, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Canon, Protective Derek, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Underage Drinking, Werewolf Derek, sterekmeetcute, sterekweek2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-23 16:19:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12511356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoMouse/pseuds/JoMouse
Summary: Stiles is having the worst day ever. Perhaps drinking alone in the middle of the woods isn't the best solution, but thankfully someone comes to his rescue.Takes place the school year before Teen Wolf begins.





	The Last of Him

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is my first attempt at writing Sterek and I'm not lying when I say that I am freaking out about even posting this, but my betas Cristina and Jenn are huge supporters and encouraged me to do this.
> 
> This is for Day Three of [Sterek Week 2017](http://sterekweek2017.tumblr.com) which is themed "Meet/Cute". As I said in my tags, I'm not sure this qualifies as cute, but I hope it still qualifies for the day.
> 
> Loosely based on [this prompt](http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/158049080336).
> 
> If you like it, please leave kudos and comments and if you hate it, please be gentle.
> 
> xx-Joey
> 
> My standard disclaimer: Don't know 'em. Don't own 'em. Don't show 'em.

Stiles Stilinski stood straight up looking around himself and cursing under his breath as he wiped a hand angrily across his face. He refused to acknowledge the tears coursing down his face more than that, even though he knew deep down they weren’t going to stop anytime soon. He’d had the single worst day in his short life. He knew he was being dramatic, that he’d had worse days, but things just seemed to come to a head today. 

It was the his mother’s birthday, a day that used to hold so much joy now was just a painful reminder since her death seven years previously. That alone coloured the whole day a tired grey. The power had gone out the night before, so his phone hadn’t charged and died leaving him without an alarm to wake him for school. He’d been awoken by his buddy Scott banging on his front door so loudly, he wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen it splinter into a million pieces.

He’d shouted out his window to Scott that he was on his way, waving as his friend had gotten into his jeep to wait. Racing around his room, Stiles had stubbed his bare foot on his desk before tripping and biting his lip hard enough to bleed on the process of stopping himself. Then, as he’d raced down the stairs as he shrugged into flannel, he’d tripped over an untied shoelace and rolled to the bottom.

He’d laid on the floor for several minutes, staring at the ceiling and taking an internal inventory of all the points of pain that were covering his body. Once he’d decided he wasn’t going to die, he’d pushed himself to his feet only to curse when he put weight on his right wrist. Groaning, he’d made his way to the jeep and dug into the first aid kit his father insisted on him carrying before pulling out an ace bandage and wrapping his wrist.

Scott had been laughing by the time Stiles had climbed into the jeep, so he’d flipped him off and turned Roscoe’s key, only for the vehicle to sputter and die. Subsequent attempts had ended with a surely flooded engine and a miserable Stiles being left behind by his best friend who had decided he couldn’t afford to be late and had run to school.

Stiles had gone back into the house to use the landline to call his father, plugging in his phone to charge while he’d waited for someone to come pick him up. Twenty minutes later, he’d heard a honk and glanced outside to see a police cruiser, Deputy Parrish behind the wheel. Dragging himself slowly down the walk, he’d attempted to climb in the front seat only to find it occupied by one of the new canine officers. Parrish had gotten out with an apology to open the rear door of the cruiser and Stiles had climbed in, already knowing what kind of reaction the kids at school would have when he showed up like a common criminal.

The rest of the day had continued in the same manner. He’d been late enough to his first hour Chemistry class that Harris decided to give him a zero on the pop quiz he’d handed out. Lydia had laughed at him when Jackson had tripped him in the hallway causing his books and papers to go flying everywhere. He’d even considered staying there on the floor, face down, and let the other students of Beacon Hills High trample him to death at the next class change.

Lacrosse practice was the worst. When he’d showed Coach his wrist, the man had just shouted, “Bilinski! You don’t need a wrist to run suicides! Go!” So, Stiles had run and run and run until he’d collapsed on the side of the field dry heaving, thankful for the first time that he’d forgotten to pack a lunch that day.

Once he’d been done showering, the locker room had been empty and Stiles saw his phone lit up with text messages from his father saying that his jeep had been repaired and was waiting for him in the parking lot of the school. He’d also said he’d have to work late due to some trouble or another, but Stiles knew that his father was really going to be spending the night locked in his office with a bottle of whiskey and mourning Stiles’ mother.

Stiles had climbed into his jeep and began riding home, pulling over when his phone rang. It had been Scott calling to cancel on him; his mother had insisted he stay in and study because he was failing chemistry. Stiles had huffed and lied and told Scott it was fine, but all he’d kept thinking was how much he hated his friend for deserting him on such an emotional day. Tossing his phone to the passenger seat, Stiles pulled out onto the road again and began driving out towards the preserve. 

He’d pulled into the small unofficial parking area next to the trail and went into the back of his jeep to pull out the box he kept hidden underneath the seat. Smiling ruefully at the bottle of Jack Daniels he’d stolen from his father months before with the intentions of getting rid of it, he’d decided that night was as a good as any, even if the means of disposal wasn’t exactly what he’d originally planned.

That was how he’d found himself standing in the middle of the woods, half empty bottle next to his feet as he let memories of his mother and the pain of his numerous injuries, both mental and physical, of the day wash over him and out through his eyes. He squinted at his phone, knowing that he should be heading home, even though the numbers of the clock were a bright blur on the screen.

Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulled out his keys. He turned towards the trail back to his car and stumbled, falling to his hands and knees. The pain shooting through his wrist forced him to drop to his stomach and he laid facedown, defeat washing over him as he grabbed his phone and tried to call Scott, not even surprised when he was immediately sent to voicemail.

Across town, Derek Hale groaned as his alarm went off. Rolling over, he slapped a hand down on the snooze button, silencing the incessant beeping before rolling onto his back again. Interlocking his fingers he stretched his arms above his back and arched his back, humming in satisfaction as the bones in his back popped in succession.

Once he was done, he allowed himself to lie on the bed and study the ceiling until the alarm sounded again. Pushing himself up, he reached over and shut off the alarm before climbing out of bed and immediately dropping to the floor to do pushups. He could hear the silence in the loft and beyond the windows, the sounds of cars driving by and people murmuring. He moved from pushups to sit ups and sniffed the air, smiling when he realized the Chinese restaurant next door had fresh egg rolls.

Rising, he decided to bypass a shower, since he was just planning to go for a run by the old house, or the shell of the old house, the pull of the moon strong. Changing clothes quickly, he grabbed a couple of water bottles and stuffed them into a bag along with some protein bars. Locking the door behind himself and heading down the stairs to the street, he debated between just running or taking the Camaro, but as he walked by the car and ran his fingers gently over the gleaming black paint, he knew he couldn’t leave his baby home.

He was careful as he drove through the downtown area, but once he hit the edge of town, he allowed his foot to press just a bit harder on the pedal, taking the corner at speeds that would’ve have been dangerous to anyone without his reflexes.  He still was careful not to go too fast because although he would heal from an accident, his car did not have that ability.

He was just about to turn into the hidden driveway to his family's property when something up the road caught his eye. With a groan, he continued down the road towards the area alongside the road that had been worn down over the years by trespassers. His family had never minded the public using their land, but since the fire, Derek found all the strange people nerve-wracking.

He pulled alongside the beat up blue Jeep, a flicker of recognition flashing through his brain. As he climbed out, he sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the strong scent of sadness and stress that flooded his senses. Carefully, he made his way to the trail, the scent becoming stronger and mixed with that of alcohol and thick teenage angst. Shaking his head, he tried to ignore the undercurrent of musty books and electrical spark, confused by the odd combination.

He was about ten feet into the woods when he began to hear movement. As he drew closer to the sound, it got louder and faster. He realized whatever was making the noise was coming at him at a rapid pace and he crouched in preparation of an attack. He felt his teeth and claws elongate as a shadow broke through the trees and launched itself at him with a strangled yell.

“Scott! Buddy!” Stiles shouted as he threw himself from the woods at his friend, knocking the both of them to the ground. He’d heard the car pull up in the distance and assumed it was Scott, despite the fact he wasn’t entirely sure at that point if he’d managed to leave a voicemail or not, but who else would it be at this time on a school night. So, without using his best judgement, he’d started making his way back towards the pull-off when he’d heard his friend getting closer so he started running. 

He realized now as he lay atop Scott’s chest on the ground, his friend growling lowly beneath him, that running after all he’d drank wasn’t the wisest idea he’d ever had. He let his head drop to the warmth of Scott’s chest, realizing just how chilly the night air had gotten, breathing deeply and trying to catch his breath.

Derek lay on the ground, the back of his head hurting from where it had made contact. He couldn’t control the low growls emanating from his chest, but stopped when he realized that the painful scents he’d been smelling were wafting off of the stranger that had just landed on top of him. He listened to the person breathing heavily, a wetness to the inhales that reminded Derek of when his sisters would start sobbing over some new drama in their lives. He shook off the memory as he grasped the upper arms of the boy lying atop him and tried to push him off.

Stiles felt himself being pushed away, but he struggled to hang on tighter, burying his face in Scott’s chest as the sobs took over again. He yelled at Scott until his friend stopped struggling and wrapped his arms around him, warming his body and holding him tightly enough that he could feel the panic begin leaving his body along with the tears.

Derek wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he could feel the person calming down, so he kept his arms tight as he struggled to sit up. The movement caused a quick wave of panic until Derek stilled, sitting up, curling the boy, he could tell now it was a boy, into his lap and testing his chin on top of his head when he buried his face into Derek’s chest. 

After a minute of having his face buried, Stiles began to squirm. Moments earlier, he’d been really cold, but now he was sweating beneath his hoodie. He felt the overwhelming panic beginning to subside, Scott was always great at getting him through things like this. He pulled back to thank Scott, but when his eyes focused on the face of the man holding him, he realized it wasn’t Scott.

Derek winced when the boy opened his mouth and began screaming moments after he’d pulled back and took in his face. “Stop,” Derek said firmly, but that just caused the boy to pause in his screaming to pull in a deep breath before screaming even louder and scrambling away.

“Dude, bad touching!” Stiles screamed as he tried to pull out of the iron hold the man had around him. He punched at the man’s shoulder, shuddering at the pain that shot through his arm. “Fuck me!”

Derek tried not to laugh at the dirty thought that went through his mind at the boy’s exclamation. Keeping his face serious, he loosened his hold on the boy, but kept a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist, trying to leach some of the pain that was obvious on the boy’s face. “Don’t call me dude,” he said instead, smiling when the boy huffed and flailed his free arm, but had stopped trying to get away.

Stiles head was swimming, but he wasn’t sure if he should be blaming the alcohol or the unfair face in front of him. He watched in awe as black lines began trailing up the back of the hand that was grasping his wrist. He reached out to touch, wondering just how drunk he truly was.

“How drunk are you?” Derek asked, sniffing slightly and wrinkling his nose at the strong smell of whiskey that came off the boy’s breath, but he could tell that more of it was coming from his clothes, so at least the idiot hadn’t downed an entire bottle. The boy was beginning to blink owlishly at him, his movements slowing enough that Derek didn’t have to try very hard to get away when he reached for the lines of pain moving up his arm.

Stiles huffed when one second there was a hand on his wrist and then the next, the man was simply sitting, both hands locked together in his lap and staring at him. “You’re not Scott.”

Derek chuckled and shook his head. “No, I’m Derek. And you’re trespassing.”

“I’m not trespassing. I’m Stiles,” he argued as he pushed to his feet only to promptly lose his balance and pitch forward, luckily the man caught him. “And, possibly, drunk.”

Derek shook his head and scooped the boy into his arms, laughing when he began fighting against him. He’d recognized the name when he’d said it and knew there was no good way out of this situation; he really didn’t want his return to Beacon Hills to be marred by being accused of abducting the sheriff’s son. “Definitely drunk.”

“I can walk!” Stiles argued before his face suddenly turned grey.

“Do no puke on me,” Derek growled which quickly turned into a chuckle as the boy passed out completely in his arms. The sudden change to dead weight would’ve thrown him off balance if he were anyone else.

Walking carefully to the cars, Derek debated for a moment before sliding Stiles into the passenger seat of his jeep. He was relieved to quickly find the keys in his hoodie pocket. Adjusting the seat, he started the jeep with a bit of difficulty and he wondered what would possess the sheriff to allow his son to travel in such a rickety vehicle.

He drove carefully into town, hoping he wouldn’t be spotted by some well-meaning officer while driving the jeep. He knew where the sheriff’s house was, it was common knowledge in their small town. It only took a few minutes and he was relieved to see the driveway empty. Glancing at the driveway, he wrinkled his brow at the clean pavement. Leaning out of the jeep, he squinted at the road and saw a stain, knowing that was where Stiles must park. He pulled the jeep up there and turned it off.

He quickly moved to unlock the front door, taking a few minutes to find the right key, making him wonder why a teenage boy had so many keys in the first place, especially the few that looked suspiciously like they would fit the locks at Beacon Hills High School. Chuckling, he was beginning to imagine just how much of a troublemaker Stiles actually was. Derek tried to wake him, but after a few minutes of nothing but grumbles and drool, he gave up and scooped him up again.

The walk up the stairs to where he could sense Stiles’ scent the strongest was difficult and he might have knocked the boy’s head against the wall a couple of times, but he figured he could blame it on the alcohol if Stiles complained. Entering the room, Derek sneezed once from the overpowering scent of teenage lust and muted personal time. 

Laying Stiles down gently on the bed, he quickly removed his shoes, but didn’t dare touch anything else; he wasn’t a creeper, afterall. He did stand over him for a moment, waiting to be sure he wasn’t in any unnecessary distress from the trip home and upstairs. 

Once he was sure that Stiles was out for the count, he moved into the bathroom he’d passed in the hallway and grabbed some motrin and a glass, filling it with water. As he stepped out, he grabbed the garbage bin at the last moment. He moved back into the room and discovered that Stiles had rolled over, his face pressed into the pillow and his knees pulled under his chest, pushing his butt into the air.

With a shudder, he put the bin next to the bed and the pills and water on the nightstand along with Stiles’ keys. He took one last look over his shoulder before racing down the stairs and out of the house, making sure the door was locked behind him.  He raced back towards the preserve and his Camaro, his mind stuck on the boy he’d left behind.

He reached his car about fifteen minutes later, barely winded, but he breathed in a deep breath, his senses flooded by the lingering scent of Stiles. Shaking his head, he had the unsettling feeling that he hadn’t seen the last of him.

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to come talk to me on Twitter or tumblr. I really love meeting new people!


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